of kittens and conversation
by faithsette
Summary: 'It's only when she gets to her building and is striding through the lobby that she realizes she's holding a kitten. She just picked up a kitten and brought it home. What is she doing'


She's beginning to think she's insane. Absolutely out of her mind.

But still she continues to hover in the pouring rain, her entire body drenched from head to toe, searching for the source of the noise. The sun set hours ago, leaving little to no light to illuminate the area as she peers into the darkness of the alley. She sees nothing.

People walking around her, shoes splashing in puddles, and the pelting of rain against the concrete are the only sounds she hears. No more tiny, high pitched cries.

It's quiet on that front now and she's honestly wondering if she made it all up, if she was hearing things.

She was walking back from the store, having realized a little too late that she had absolutely no milk in her apartment, when she heard it. A meow; small, quiet, but most definitely there. It sounded like a whimper, and she couldn't find it in herself to just _leave_ , and so she's been here for the past fifteen minutes wandering back and forth in front of the entrance to the alley, crouching down to look behind the tiny planters of shrubbery against the brick.

Nothing.

And now there are no more cries either, and so she stands once again, hikes the bag of milk back up onto her arm.

"Mrow!"

Swiveling back around, she follows the sound. Thank _god_. She's not happy there's a kitten around here somewhere, left in an alley in the pouring rain, but she is glad she's not slowly losing her mind.

Another couple of minutes and a few cries later, she's huddling down beside a small cardboard box, the ends sagging pitifully with the weight of the water. Pushing away the soggy corners, she moves the cardboard and finds a small, dark colored kitten cowering against the side of the dumpster.

"Hey, little one," she coos, shuffling closer slowly, careful not to scare the poor thing. Reaching her hand out, she only gets a few inches from its face before it lets out a meow and scoots back. "It's okay, shhh. It's all right."

Instead of trying again, she leaves her hand where it is and lets the kitten come to her on its own terms. It's not like the extra few minutes will hurt either of them; she's practically a drowned rat, and the kitten is soaked too.

Slowly, she watches as it moves towards her, tiny legs carrying it closer until there's a nose pressed against her fingers, sniffing. She takes this chance to rub between its ears, pet the damp fur on its head. This seems to do the trick, has the kitten nudging at her hand, coming even closer.

Carefully, she picks it up, cuddling it to her chest.

It wriggles in her arms. "Mrow!"

"I know, I know," she whispers, turning out of the alley and back onto the street. Opening her jacket, she curls the kitten inside, hoping that'll at least help give off some warmth. "You'll be out of the rain soon, okay?"

It's only when she gets to her building and is striding through the lobby that she realizes she's holding a _kitten_. She just picked up a kitten and brought it home. What is she doing?

But she couldn't leave it there, not after she heard its cries and saw its tiny face huddling in a corner, sitting near the trash.

Her fingers absentmindedly brush against the messy, wet fur, trying to soothe the shaking body in her arms. The poor thing is trembling as she unlocks her door and pushes it in, letting herself into the apartment.

She looks around, wondering what to do first. Take off the clothes that the rain has completely soaked through? Put the milk in the fridge? Put the kitten down... somewhere?

Water drips from the edges of her hair, falls onto the hardwood of her kitchen floor, and she settles on putting the grocery bag on the kitchen counter, carrying the kitten into her bedroom with her. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, she sets the tiny thing onto it and gently places it on her bed.

"Stay here," she says quietly, shaking her head.

As if it knows what she's saying and is about to listen to her.

She makes quick work of peeling the clothes from her body, trading the water logged hoodie and jeans for leggings and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair can air dry, she decides, so it continues to drip, the ends curling around her face.

"Okay, you," she says as she makes her way back to the bed, where the kitten has now wandered off of the towel and is tip-toeing across her sheets. "You're soaking my blankets, little one."

Scooping the kitten—whom she's since realized is a boy—into her arms, she takes the towel with her and she pads into the kitchen. She places the towel onto the counter and sets him down in the middle, lifting the sides so she can dry his fur. He squirms but doesn't put up much of a fight, and she manages to dry him off fairly quickly.

He's blinking up at her now, curious, bright green eyes staring back.

The kitten is adorable, she has to admit. Dark brown fur with little specks of tan thrown in, a patch of white just between his eyes. He moves towards her, tiny paws kneading against her palm, forehead nudging at her until she continues to pet him.

She chuckles. "You just want some love, don't you?"

"Mrow!"

"Yeah, I thought so," she murmurs, picking him up and holding him against her stomach. Looking down at the tiny body, now curling into the crook of her elbow, she sighs. "What am I gonna do with you, huh?"

Those big eyes find her again, and she can't help the small smile.

Food is probably a good start. Not that she _has_ any cat food, of course. She barely has any actual food.

She's suddenly extremely glad she bought milk, though. So while she figures out what she'll feed the little guy, she trails around the kitchen, finds a small bowl to pour milk into. She puts him down beside the bowl and watches as he slides towards it, sticking his entire face into the liquid until he realizes what he's doing.

He can't be more than a few weeks old, at most. Still uncoordinated, wobbly on his own legs.

There's a pounding on her door a few minutes later, cutting into the silence she's been standing in. Her brow furrows as she crosses the short distance to her door.

Another knock sounds, accompanied this time by a call. "Beckett!"

Is that... Castle?

She swings the door open, eyes squinted as she takes in her partner, looking about as wet as she did not twenty minutes ago, arm raised mid-knock.

"Castle," she says, surprise evident in her voice. "What... are you doing here?"

He blinks, lets out a breath. "You didn't answer your phone, I thought—"

"My phone?" It registers a few seconds later. She didn't take her phone with her to the store, hasn't even bothered to check it since she's been back. "I ran out to get milk," she explains. "Why didn't you just call again?"

"Because I..." His mouth opens, closes, and opens once more, and then he turns to her with a sheepish look. "I called twice, didn't think to call a third time before I just—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just showed up like this."

There's something hiding in the shadows of his face, something _off_ , but then he's turning to leave and she manages to catch him by the elbow.

"Come on," she says, nodding inside. "You're freezing. Can't have you getting sick out there."

A small smile graces his lips. "Is that concern for my well-being I sense, detective?"

"No," she quips, doesn't miss a beat. "If you get sick you'll infect the entire precinct."

"Uh huh," he muses, though the grin doesn't fade. "I'm sure that's what it is."

"Get in, Castle."

He crosses the threshold into her apartment, hovering in the entrance as she closes the door behind them. She tuns to find him standing there and shakes her head, holding a hand out. When he gives her a questioning look, her eyes dart from his clothing up to his face.

"Jacket," she says. "It's drenched. I'll hang it up, let it dry."

"Oh." He takes it off, hands it to her in a heavy, soaked lump of fabric. "Thanks."

Nodding, she puts it onto a hook near the front door and then brushes past him, heading into her kitchen. She grabs two mugs from the cabinet and takes out a packet of hot chocolate mix, emptying it into both while she puts water on to boil.

"So, why are you here?"

"I told you, you didn't—"

"Answer my phone, I know," she finishes for him with a nod. "But then you show up here, in the rain, banging on my door? Just because I didn't answer a few calls?" He averts his gaze and she gives him a minute while she pours the water into the mugs. "Come on, Castle."

"I wanted to make sure... you were okay," he says quietly, still not meeting her eyes.

She places the hot chocolate in front of him, tossing in a few mini marshmallows she finds hiding in a cupboard. She's not actually sure how long they've been in there, but figures they're still good. Marshmallows don't expire, do they?

"Why wouldn't I be?"

His shoulders shrug. "I don't know, it's nothing."

"It's not nothing," she counters. "You wouldn't have shown up here if it was nothing."

Lifting his head, he finally looks at her. "The Dunn case," he admits on an exhale. "Sometimes I still—sometimes you don't answer the phone, and I don't warn you about the bomb in time, and you..." His voice trails off.

Oh.

"And the bomb goes off."

He nods. "Yeah."

Taking a deep breath, she leans against the counter across from him. It's been a few months since the Dunn case, a few months since she left the loft and finally found a new apartment. Sure, there are nights she'll wake up from a nightmare about that bomb, but she had no idea Castle was still reeling from it too.

"I'm okay," she says, waiting until he faces her to continue. "I'm here, Castle."

He puffs out an breath. "I know. It was stupid, I'm sor—"

"No," she cuts him off with a shake of her head. She reaches over, puts a tentative hand on top of his. "Not stupid, and don't apologize. I get it, okay? But I'm here. Nothing to worry about, promise."

The corners of his lips turn up into an appreciative smile. "Yeah. Okay." His eyes cut to the mug in his hands and he hums around the rim. "And thanks for the hot chocolate. Delicious."

"I'm glad it's up to your _gourmet_ standards," she teases.

A light weight on her foot has her looking down, finding the small ball of fluff perched on her socks, paws pushing against her leg. He tries to climb up her leggings but he's still too small, can't quite get a grasp onto the fabric of her pants yet, and so she just grins down at him.

"Beckett?"

Oh, right.

The little guy chooses this moment to let out a wail, one that sounds suspiciously like an infant's cry.

Castle's eyes widen. "Beckett... do you have something to tell me?"

Holding her poker face intact, she pauses, considers her options. He's staring at her, confusion pouring out of his eyes, and she bites back a smirk. Watching him squirm is too much fun, she can't very well pass that up.

Decision made.

"And what exactly would I have to tell you?"

The kitten squeaks once more, a wail similar to the first, and she chews on her bottom lip. Her gaze trails to the furry friend settling itself on top of her socked foot, its head nestled at her ankles, and her face breaks out into a smile.

"Do you have a... is there...?"

He doesn't say it, but she knows. She does wonder why he thinks that, if she _did_ have a baby in her apartment, she'd have it sitting on the floor, behind a counter, showing it no attention whatsoever.

But that's a question for another time.

Instead she stares at him, puts on an expression of faux panic. "I, uh—"

He practically squawks. "Did you—why do you—when?"

Taking a breath, she gives him a serious look, pulling her bottom lip back between her teeth. Castle's eyes are still hilariously wide, shock and even more confusion written all over his face.

"Castle, there's someone I want you to meet." She bends then, taking note of how he doesn't seem to breathe as he watches her, and reaches her arms out, scooping the little thing into her hands. "Castle, this is Milo."

It pops out before she can think better of it and she mentally chastises herself. So much for not naming him.

She watches all of the air leave his body as he blows out the breath he's been holding in. Her tongue peeks out between her teeth, eyes twinkling when he finally makes eye contact with her.

"A... that's a kitten," he says, his voice labored. "It's a kitten."

Laughing, she nods. "Uh huh. What'd you think it would be, Castle?"

She could put him out of his misery, but watching him stumble over his words is hilarious.

"Oh, I uh—it sounded like a, uh, nothing."

"Like a baby, maybe?"

His eyes widen. "Maybe, yeah."

"You thought I just... had a baby?" she asks, amusement laced in her tone.

He looks at her. "No—yes—well, no, I don't know, Beckett!"

"You've seen me practically every day for the past two years, Castle. When would I have had a baby? Did I _look_ pregnant?"

His eyes bulge out. " _What?_ No, no! But you could've been one of those women who don't gain any weight, or one of the ones you see on those 'I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant' shows!"

She barks out a laugh. "Castle, no."

"Well that's a relief," he says, and her brows arch. "No, I didn't mean—you'd be a _great..._ I'm making this worse."

"A little, yeah."

He nods, giving her a sheepish look before his eyes finally land on the kitten squirming in her arms. They light up, unadulterated glee sparkling in them like a kid on Christmas morning, and then his gaze travels back up to her.

Beckett rubs at Milo's stomach, enduring the vice of his little arms and legs that wrap around her wrist, the tiny teeth that try to bite at her fingers. It doesn't hurt, feels more like a tiny prick since he's still a baby, and she just wriggles her hand around, laughing when the grip on her arm tightens.

"Mrow!"

"Now, Detective Beckett, just where did you get a _kitten?_ "

Stroking the kittens back, she waits until he purrs contentedly to turn back to Castle. "He was in an alleyway on the way back from the store. I spent twenty minutes trying to find the source of the meowing. Thought I was imagining it."

"And you took him home? How very sweet of you."

She shrugs. "Couldn't just leave him there, Castle. I'm not a monster," she says, giving him a look.

"'Course not," he agrees, pushing himself off of the chair to come beside her, fingers reaching out to pet between the ears. The kitten lets out a tiny squeak of a meow, then starts purring again. "He's adorable. Did you pick him up any stuff on the way?"

Beckett tears her eyes away from the kitten, away from his hands and fingers that are very close to brushing up against her own, and looks at him.

"Uh, no..."

Castle gives her a displeased look. "He doesn't have anything? A bed, some toys, food?" Slowly, she shakes her head. "He needs this stuff, Beckett."

Obviously he needs these things. But she doesn't have to be the one to give it to him.

Pet's belongings are bought by their owners. She is not this kitten's owner. No, she's merely keeping him for the night until she can head to a shelter tomorrow, let them take him and give him a good home.

"I've only had him for an hour, Castle. Besides, hasn't anyone ever told you that you don't buy things for an animal you don't plan on getting attached to?"

He huffs. "You're most definitely already attached," he says confidently.

"I am not."

"You are too."

"Castle, I'm not attached," she insists.

Shaking his head, he lets out a small smile. "You gave him a name, Beckett," he says matter-of-factly. "You don't name something you're not attached to."

She ignores his comment about the name. That was her own fault—she hadn't _meant_ to name him, didn't even know what was happening before she introduced him to Castle and the name came out of its own accord.

"He's going to the shelter tomorrow, he'll be placed with a nice family in a nice home, and _they'll_ give him stuff to play with."

"You're giving him up?"

She blinks at how dejected he sounds. "I can't keep him, Castle," she says, stroking the kittens fur as she rounds the counter. "I have nothing for him and I'm never here when we have a case. Now I know cats are fairly independent, but I'm pretty sure they need _some_ attention."

"But he likes you, Beckett."

Looking down at the curled ball of a kitten currently nodding off, eyes blinking, staying closed for longer increments each time, she sighs.

"Not keeping him."

Castle lets out a dramatic sigh. " _Fine_."

Milo's eyes pop open at the sound of Castle's chair squeaking against the hardwood, effectively waking him up. He's alert now, wiggling out of Beckett's grasp, and so she sets him down, lets him run—or slide, more accurately—across the floor, disappearing around the counter.

"So," she breathes, standing in front of him with her arms across her chest. He's still in her apartment, sitting in her kitchen, and though she should probably kick him out and get some sleep, she doesn't really want to. "You got plans?"

His brow quirks. "What are you suggesting?"

She shrugs. "You're already here, figured we could maybe... watch a movie or something. But if you have somewhere to be—"

"Nowhere to be," he says quickly, shaking his head.

A small, partly hidden smile spreads across her face. "Okay."

They settle on _Salt_ after Castle tries to convince her that there's absolutely no way he wouldn't know if someone he worked with was secretly a Russian spy. She does her best to convince him that he _wouldn't_ know, because they're often brought to the states as children, made to grow up in America until they're needed to fulfill whatever mission it is they've been sent for.

"You're insane," he argues during one of the quiet moments of the movie. Angelina Jolie is currently in hotel room, dying her hair black. "You're telling me that if one of the boys was actually planted by the Russians as a child, you'd have no idea?"

"Oh, no, I'd know. I'm saying that _you_ wouldn't know."

He gapes at her. "I'm extremely observant, you know. It's what I do."

She snorts, angling her body towards him. "So, what do you think?"

"What do I think about what?"

"Разве я русский шпион?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you just said, but _please_ feel free to say something else."

Shaking her head, she huffs. "Am I a Russian spy, Castle?"

"No," he says, shifting against the couch cushions.

She turns to the television, watching as Evelyn Salt steals a motorcycle from an unsuspecting motorist and rides it away from the authorities. It's hilarious how they manage to do these things in movies.

Jumping off of a bridge—after being shot in the side, no less—and landing on the top of a moving truck, riding it all the way out? Incredibly unrealistic.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know you."

"You don't know everything about me," she counters, raising a brow. "How do you know I wasn't sent here from Russia as a baby and adopted by my parents?"

"Because you're—you're not a Russian spy, Beckett. I'd know if you were," he argues. "Besides, you wouldn't be asking me this if you were. That'd be risking your cover. If Russian spies know one thing, it's not to blow a cover."

"Because you know _so many_ Russian spies," she drawls.

Letting it go, she casts one last grin in his direction, just enough to have him squinting and questioning everything he knows—which was her only goal, really—and then they turn their attention back to the movie.

She hears a small squealing coming from the floor, somewhere around when Angelina Jolie is trying to shoot her way through bullet proof glass to stop the launch of military missals.

"Mrow!"

Looking down, she finds Milo at the foot of the couch, his limbs too weak to push himself up onto the cushions alone. She leans over, grabbing the kitten around the middle and dragging his body into her lap.

"Hi there," she murmurs, watching him roll over, stretching his body out contentedly when she rubs at his back. "You like that, huh?"

Castle chuckles, reaches over to scratch between Milo's eyes. The kitten looks up, blinking in his direction, and then vacates Beckett's lap to move over to Castle's instead. His tiny claws latch into the fabric of his tee shirt as he tries to climb, to settle himself against his chest. Castle's arms come around to hold the tiny body, making sure he doesn't lose his grip and fall backwards.

"He's an affectionate little one, isn't he," he coos, his voice high as if talking to a baby. Milo purrs against his chest. "Like mother, like son."

She shoots him a glare. "I am _not_ his mother."

"I hate to break it to you, Beckett, but you kind of are," he laughs, looking down at her furry son. "He doesn't have a cat mother, so that leaves the one who's taken him in, which we both know is... _you_."

In lieu of a reply she just shakes her head, eyes on the kitten and not on her partner. She's most definitely not his mother. This kitten is not her child. It's not even _her_ kitten, because she's not keeping him.

Milo releases his grip on Castle and makes his way over the couch, paws getting stuck in between the cushions when he tries to walk across. He struggles for a few seconds before Castle helps him out, lifting his back legs out from the crease.

"There you go."

The kitten licks his fingers in thanks and then turns back around, finding his way onto Beckett's lap. He circles a few times before settling down, nestling himself in the space between her crossed legs, his head resting against the crook of her knee. Her fingers brush against his fur, finding a rhythm that has him purring consistently, eyes drooping closed until he's knocked out.

When she looks up, Castle's grinning at her, eyes glittering in the dim lighting of her living room.

"Don't."

"You're totally a cat mother," he whispers.

She rolls her eyes, but looks down at the kitten asleep on her lap, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest.

Oh, damn.

"Looks like you've got a kitten, Beckett."

She lets out a long breath, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Looks like I've got a kitten."

* * *

 **Three word prompt** : beckett, kitten, rain

I posted this on tumblr probably over a year ago but never transferred it here, so I figured it was time. The Russian was from google translate, so apologies if it's totally butchered.

Also, Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate!

 _Tumblr: acoldcomfort_

 _Twitter: faithsette_


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